


Blame It On the Moonlight

by AnOtterShambles



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 02:44:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6034945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnOtterShambles/pseuds/AnOtterShambles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Delia has her period, and is really suffering. Patsy, nurse and remarkably sympathetic girlfriend, comes armed with tea and aspirin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blame It On the Moonlight

Trixie had just shut the door on the autoclave when she heard footsteps behind her. As she was turning back to the clinical room bench with a new set of tools to pop into her bag, Patsy strode in, pulling her scarlet nurses' hat off her head with a practiced sweep.

“A beautiful little boy for Mrs. Maguire in Lisbon Buildings. Marvelous girl, delivery couldn't have gone smoother. Though her husband had practically chewed his fingers off in terror when I turned up - and was opening the second bottle of whiskey by the time I left!”

Trixie snorted. “That won't be the last bottle either. Mrs. Maguire has five sisters, and they'll all be around this evening with piles of casseroles, gallons of stout and absolute buckets of tea. The poor thing won't get a minute's rest.” She walked over to the supply cupboard and reached for an unopened Milk of Magnesia, and a new bottle of aspirin. She carefully placed the Milk of Magnesia into her clinical bag and placed the aspirin on the counter-top.

Patsy smiled. “I'll pop around in the morning, but I don't have any reason to suppose she'll need any extra looking after. Like you say, she has an army of women around her already; I may only get in the way.”

She snapped open her bag and within moments had sorted her equipment into what needed to be sterilised and reused, and what needed to be thrown away. She glanced up at the autoclave.

“Have you already turned your equipment around?”

“Yes, I'm afraid you'll have to wait your turn. I'm running out again, one of my diabetes patients is being rather difficult about his needle, so I'm going to threaten him with Sister Evangelina if he doesn't behave.”

Trixie flashed her irresistible, kilowatt grin at Patsy, who chuckled. Trixie turned her attention back to her bag, checking against her mental list. 

“All right, I'm off. Oh, blast – will you bring that aspirin in to Delia? She was looking for something for pain, but I really must be pushing off.”

Patsy's head snapped up, and her stomach gave a tiny lurch as it always did when someone else casually mentioned Delia's name.

“Delia? Why? Is she alright?”

“Oh, she's fine, just a little peaky. Between us girls,”  
And Trixie gave her naughty grin again, lowering her voice to a dramatic stage-whisper,  
“I suspect it's the Curse.”

And with that enigmatic comment, she hurried out toward the front door and her bike.

 

Patsy gave a small laugh. If Trixie was right, then there was no panic – but a great deal of tact and compassion would be needed with this particular patient. She carefully disposed of the rubber sheet and needles from her bag and made a neat pile of tools on the bench, ready to go into the autoclave when it had finished with its current batch. That done, she washed her hands, loosened the top button of her uniform with some relief, and picked up the bottle of aspirin Trixie had left behind. She went into the kitchen and filled a glass of water, and then filled the kettle. As it was boiling, she set a cup and saucer on a tray, fetched another saucer from the cupboard and went in search of a packet of custard creams she had definitely seen only that morning. Experience should have taught her that any custard creams left unattended in Nonnatus House would not be unattended for very long, but Patsy's indomitable optimism kept her searching until the kettle had boiled. Her search proved fruitless, and Patsy was left to pour the crumbled remains of a packet of digestives onto the plate. She made up the tea straight into the cup – strong, a dash of milk, no sugar - and loaded the tea, the biscuits, the glass of water, and the aspirin onto the tray. She picked up the tray and carried it through to the dining room, heading for the sitting-room beyond. If Delia was not there and she had to carry the tray all the way upstairs, she may need to rejig the position of some of the things on the tray.

“Delia?”

“In here, Pats.”

Thank goodness, she hadn't much fancied heading upstairs so heavily-laden. She had to suppress a smile at how pathetic Delia's voice sounded, and arranging her face into a more sympathetic expression, carried on through to the sitting-room.  
Delia was curled up in the corner of the sofa, unenthusiastically flicking through a copy of the Radio Times. She was dressed in a pair of brown slacks and a navy-blue cardigan, the long sleeves of which were pulled down over her hands to resemble the paws of some small and helpless animal. Patsy briefly wondered if the cardigan was one of her own, but that thought was dispelled when Delia turned her face to hers, her expression one of misery. She did look rather pale and drawn, and Patsy was struck with a small jolt of pity. She stood in the doorway with the tea-tray, and adopted her best and briskest nurse-voice, doing her best to keep any trace of amusement out of it.

“Well now, I hear that there's a rather poorly young woman in here in desperate need of some love and attention. Come on now,” she said, placing the tea-tray on the side table and perching herself next to Delia, “Where's your Blitz spirit? Chin up, worse things happen at sea, jolly hockeysticks, up the school, that kind of thing.”  
“Just drop the Malory Towers act, Pats, will you? Your bedside manner doesn't work on me.”   
Delia's voice was tense and laced with irritability, and Patsy's good humour was tempered with a moment of genuine concern. She placed a hand on Delia's forehead, and was surprised to find that there was heat coming off her in waves.

“Trixie told me you were looking for some aspirin, and actually you are rather warm. Deels, sweetie, what's up?”

Delia sighed as she reached for the water. “The usual. I almost wish it were something else, a real ailment, but there's no medals for this is there?” 

Patsy sighed too, rubbing her back. “Afraid not, darling. Not for the Curse.”

Delia looked up at her quizzically.   
“Trixie called it that, earlier. Should I be in on this?”  
“It's one of Sister Monica Joan's actually, but we've all started using it. It's Tennyson, I think;   
“ “The curse has come upon me! Cried the Lady of Shallot.” ”  
She had the grace to look slightly mortified.  
“I suppose it is a bit odd, but it's the best we have. Unless we want to talk clinical, and none of us fancies using the word menstruation, or even period, with the nuns. Not about one's own body at any rate.”

Delia gave a humourless snort. Patsy lit a cigarette, and watched as she swallowed some tablets, grimaced, and reached for the tea and biscuits.   
“Thanks for all this. It's very sweet of you.”   
She took a gulp of tea, gave Patsy a watery smile, and slipped an arm around her waist.  
“Sorry for being a big grumpy-knickers. I just feel rotten.”  
Patsy gently touched Delia's tummy and rubbed small circles into her tense muscles. “How are you feeling exactly?”  
Delia took a deep breath, and laid her head gently onto Patsy's shoulder, burrowing into the smell of her hair.  
“Well, I feel...drained. Knackered. My back is aching, I feel fat, my body is cramping in places I had forgotten could cramp, and my - ”  
She paused, a small blush creeping into her cheeks, and she turned her eyes away from Patsy's and lowered her voice slightly,  
“- my breasts are incredibly sore. Actually, except for the cramps that's the worst part.”  
She shifted her position on the sofa,  
“I just can't seem to get comfortable, no matter what I do. And what are you smiling at?”  
Patsy had listened patiently to Delia listing her symptoms with a small grin growing slowly on her lips. At Delia's last indignant question, she let out a small laugh.  
“I really am sorry darling, I promise I'm not laughing at you. It's just...”  
She gave her girlfriend's waist a squeeze and fondly touched her forehead against Delia's.  
“You're a nurse, Delia. How come you're shy about saying 'breast' in front of me? And I mean,”  
She carried on, her voice lower,  
“with me...?”  
Delia blushed again, but she didn't break eye contact this time. She laughed, slightly embarrassedly.  
“I know, it's silly. Especially...well, considering. And I know, I'm a nurse, and it's so foolish, but I suppose it's force of habit. On the wards we don't exactly discuss these things, do we? And in the nurses' home I suppose we all saw it as a necessary evil but nobody else's business. You remember.”  
Patsy nodded. However, she persisted,  
“But Deels, please don't think me callous. You know I have every sympathy for your plight. But you're twenty-four, and this is hardly your first period...is there something else? Something different this time, that's making it worse than usual? Please,”  
She unconsciously tucked a lock of hair behind Delia's ear and trailed her hand along her chin,  
“You can tell me.”

Delia closed her eyes momentarily at her touch and gave another deep sigh.

“I wasn't expecting it for another ten days. I only finished my last one two and a half weeks ago. It's not fair, and it's not as though it's strictly necessary in my case.”  
She squeezed Patsy's hand and whispered,  
“In our case.”

But Patsy wasn't listening. She tapped her cigarette on the edge of Delia's saucer – Delia wrinkled her nose in disapproval, but Patsy ignored her – and asked,

“Was it only this morning? When you started?”

Delia looked surprised.

“Actually, it was last night. It wasn't so bad then, it's only now it's struck with a vengeance...”

Patsy took a reflective drag on her cigarette, and nodded slowly, triumphantly, a smile breaking out again on her lips.  
“Quite. Well. I suppose - it's inevitable. Actually,”

She looked into Delia's bemused face, and was struck by quite how blue her eyes were this evening. 

“I think it's quite nice. It feels right, or something. We're like a ...” She trailed off, lost in thought.

“Patsy Mount, what are you talking about.” 

Patsy stubbed out her cigarette and leaned back in her seat, one arm around Delia and the other extended cockily over the back of the sofa.

“Well, my dear Watson, it's like this. Yesterday we observed Barbara returning to Nonnatus after her rounds with a full box of Milk Tray, which has not been seen since. Barbara, being a vicar's daughter and a good-hearted, Christian kind of girl, would always share her treats with Trixie and me if she received a present from a grateful patient. Remember this.  
Now, Trixie was in truly fine form a while ago when we spoke in the clinical room, but we cannot disregard the prudent fact that last night she threw a pillow at me when I suggested that she had the beginnings of a pimple on her neck. Admittedly it doesn't take much for Trixie to throw pillows at me, but last night lacked the loving touch usually inherent in her pillow-flinging.”

Delia laughed, and the sound warmed Patsy's heart. She continued,

“Today we find you, my usually incandescent Delia, in a grumpy huddle of pain and sadness, with the added injustice that you were not due another round of torture for the next ten days or so.”

Patsy glanced down at Delia. She was grinning from ear to ear.

“Let me deduce the rest of the particulars, Holmes. You yourself have fallen at Mother Nature's capricious hurdle?”  
“Right in one, my darling.”  
“So, my period is early because...”  
“Because you have come to live in a household of women. Strange but true, and for some reason we tend to run on the same cycle here much more than we did in the Nurses' Home?”  
Delia felt a warm sensation in the pit of her tummy as she replied,  
“In the Nurses' Home we lived in close quarters – but we didn't live as closely as we do here. Honestly,” and here she looked away from Patsy to gaze around the sitting-room, “I haven't felt at home anywhere like I do at Nonnatus. Even – don't tell my mam – even when I was back in Wales.”

“Mmmmmm”, Patsy hummed contentedly into Delia's hair.

Delia placed a hand on Patsy's stomach and frowned up at her.

“Hang on a second, Pats. If you're on your period too, why didn't you say anything? You're here, spoiling me, bringing me tea and listening to my whinging when you're probably feeling just as rotten.”

Patsy shrugged, her joking tone gone and her voice gentle,

“I'm alright. Mine's not so heavy this month, and you really are suffering.”

Delia craned her face upwards to be even closer to Patsy's. She gazed intently into her eyes for a moment, before leaning in the last few inches to press her lips onto Patsy's mouth. Patsy, taken aback, inhaled sharply but almost immediately let herself melt into the kiss. After a few blissful moments however, she broke away, remembering with a jolt where they were, and that she was still in her uniform. With a groan, she leaned back from Delia and stared at the ceiling in frustration. Though she had assured Delia that her period wasn't so bad, it was still taking its toll on her. She hadn't quite realised how bone-tired she was until she had sat back in Delia's arms, and not until that brief kiss had she realised how much she was craving Delia, craving her touch, craving her body. Delia seemed to be feeling the same way – the silence between them was suddenly electric, and every nerve in her body was focused on the hand still lying on her stomach, and how uneven her breathing had become. 

“...Pats...”

Patsy felt her heart clench, and every nerve in her body stood to attention. When Delia spoke, her voice was husky, and she cleared her throat before continuing,  
“Your shift's over for the day, isn't it?”  
Patsy nodded, her hand on Delia's back moving lower almost without her realising it.  
“And I heard Trixie leave again. Is Barbara around?”  
Patsy shook her head, then thought she should try talking instead of just miming.  
“No. She's out with Phyllis.”

She was taken aback by her own voice, at how strained it sounded. Part of her – a large part – was tempted to grab Delia by the hips and pull her onto her lap, uniform be damned. But then, rather unpleasantly, Sister Winifred's disapproving face came swimming into her mind's eye. She grimaced slightly and felt the fire in her skin ebb a bit. It flared into life again however when she saw the burning look in Delia's eyes, saw her get to her feet and deliberately, slowly, smooth down her rumpled clothes. She watched, helpless, as Delia ran both hands over her breasts, pulling her cardigan straight, trailed over her hips, dusting them off, over her thighs, over her bottom, brushing imaginary flecks of dust from her buttocks more times than was absolutely necessary, her eyes never leaving Patsy's face, a grin like the devil spreading slowly over her face as she watched the hunger on the other woman's face.

“I'm think I'm going to retire to bed, I'm really feeling rather warm...”

She took Patsy by the hand and pulled her to her feet. She risked another quick kiss, standing on tip-toe in her stockinged feet as Patsy, still in her work shoes, stood a few inches taller than usual over her head. Patsy let a hand drift to the point just beneath Delia's navel, where she knew her cramps would be emanating from, and gently started to massage her tummy. Delia sighed happily at the gesture and relaxed a bit into Patsy's arms. After a moment she had pulled herself back up, and plucked disapprovingly at Patsy's undone top button.

“Better do up your uniform, Nurse Mount. Wouldn't want anybody getting any ideas, would we?”

With a wink, she had taken Patsy's hand in hers, and led her up the stairs. Perhaps Barbara would have left some of that Milk Tray in her room.


End file.
